


Face-Snaked Queen

by Aela_the_Huntress



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: And no there's no dragon break, Ayem doesn't get enough love so I am here to deliver, F/M, Mortal Almsivi, Post-Morrowind main quest, but it doesn't change the rest of the franchise, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aela_the_Huntress/pseuds/Aela_the_Huntress
Summary: "Almalexia defies simple analysis. I doubt she could even describe herself accurately." -Sotha SilDagoth Ur has been defeated and the Tribunal lays in ruins, divided, bitter, and haunted by sins both old and new as their power slowly wanes. A strange, terrible vision wrests Almalexia from the brink of madness. She wonders if perhaps all is not lost and that fate may not be quite as set in stone as she previously thought.Maybe things don't have to be Broken to fulfill prophecies.
Relationships: Indoril Almalexia/Vivec
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Face-Snaked Queen

_"He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace."_

_-Leo Tolstoy_

* * *

_3E 427_

Almalexia should have been relieved. Dagoth Ur was finally defeated, struck down by the Nerevarine. Her people no longer lived in fear of Corprus. She no longer needed to channel an exorbitant amount of her power toward maintaining the Ghostfence. She should have been relieved, but she wasn't. In fact, things grew steadily worse for her.

It was subconscious, but the only emotion Almalexia’s mind would permit her these days was anger. She now lived her life on the lookout, both deliberate and not, for reasons to be angry, fuel for the all-consuming rage that needed to burn endlessly within her. The white-hot anger drowned out all other emotions, and existing in a perpetual state of fury was preferable to feeling anything else. So long as Almalexia remained angry, the emotion would serve as a dam for the vast lake of other emotions, much more complicated and all tied up with other emotions. To process those seemed a Herculean task, and one likely to break her in her current state.

Grief. Exhaustion. Fear. Shame. Guilt, always the guilt, a hulking behemoth of an entity that would tether itself to her with a chain of steel and accompany her everywhere, mouth to her ear whispering relentlessly of her sins lest she ever dare forget what she had done. Everything she looked at would remind her of something, someone, some specific time or place, drudging up more emotions, more guilt, more of that deep, yawning grief that took her breath away if she thought about it for too long. She would feel it all at once, in sleep and in wakefulness, until the day she died, and probably beyond that.

It was all too much to bear.

So instead she navigated her new life in a state of perpetual indignation, each moment an opportunity to find a new target for her ire.

Anger worked to stave off all other emotions. Until it didn't.

* * *

A brooding Almalexia, mortal-turned-goddess-turned-mortal, sat in front of her vanity, glowering at her reflection in the mirror that sat atop it. In front of her were two open glass jars of her favorite lip paint, an expensive custom blend of rich, exotic oils and rare pigments, expertly blended to a shade that perfectly complemented her glowing skin and golden irises.

When an aide delivered a fresh jar from the apothecary earlier that day Almalexia had thought, upon first inspection of the new jar, that the color was off. It was almost imperceptible, but when she had swiped a bit across the back of her hand to inspect the shade, she had noticed that the tint didn’t seem quite right. After sending the terrified aide sprnting back to the apothecary to demand a corrected batch be mixed immediately, Almalexia stalked to her chambers to compare the new jar in her hand with the almost empty one that sat at her vanity. This was, she thought vaguely, something she might have done prior to sending her aide back the shop to complain. Oh well.

Her dramatic display of anger belied the worry that had started gnawing at her as she stared at the paint on her hand.

The shades, it turned out, were indistinguishable, an impressive feat considering Almalexia’s sharp eyes, though she was currently too preoccupied entertaining a mounting sense of anxious anger to appreciate the handiwork. The problem lay not with the pigmentation of the balm; the problem was _her_ coloring, _her_ shade, an unignorable confirmation that something was indeed changing. A 3,000-year-old fear finally realized.

 _Cursed._ She would have skin of ash and eyes of fire, just like everyone else. There would probably even be a period during the transition from gold to grey during which her skin would assume a sickly green color. Wonderful.

Always one to focus overmuch on appearances, the thought of being practically indistinguishable from any other Dunmer tended to nauseate her. At that moment, however, the perpetually vain Almalexia’s thoughts were focused elsewhere as she contemplated the overarching implications stemming from a silly shade mismatch.

Her power waned. Soon her people would be able to see, plain as day, that she could no longer resist the curse that had been inflicted upon them by Azura so long ago. The remaining 1.5 Chimer in all of Tamriel would cease to exist. Why would people want to worship an obviously powerless god? Would they even view her as a god? Likely not. She would almost certainly be replaced by Azura, Mephala, and Boethiah, the old gods of her people. Tribunal temples would be torn down and new temples would be constructed, rising over the ruins of her empire. She would have nothing. She would _be_ nothing

The situation seemed beyond her control and a sense of powerlessness gripped her. Almalexia wondered how much time she had before not a drop of divinity remained, if she’d continue to weaken until she withered away to nothingness or would simply live the rest of her mortal days as a Dunmer. She wasn’t sure which of the two trajectories was less unappealing.

Anger couldn't protect her this time. She could spend the rest of her life consumed by apoplectic rage and it wouldn't do a damn thing to prevent her powers from leaving her body.

The dam sprung a leak. Panic seized her.

Almalexia roared and pitched one of the jars of cream into the vanity mirror as hard as she could. The mirror splintered and the jar shattered, tinted oil splattering everywhere, ruining everything it touched with permanent stains.

She wiped a few flecks of oil from her face, feeling a bit better after channeling her rage into the small jar. The spectacular crack of glass as it met mirror had certainly been satisfying.

Her thoughts turned bitter as she considered Vivec and Sotha Sil, the two other beings whose divine powers too were waning. Her last interaction with either of them had been over a decade ago after losing Keening and Sunder in a battle at Red Mountain; she knew nothing of their lives as of late, nor did she care to.

Did the people of Vvardenfell continue to worship the Tribunal as they had before the Tribunal had been cut off from the power of the Heart?

Due to his accessibility, the very public Vivec had always been the most popular Tribune on the island. Almalexia scowled at the notion that the selfish, bombastic fool might remain the preferred target of worship over herself. 

Sil likely remained hidden away in his Clockwork City, alone with his thoughts and scraps of metal.

A thought came to her suddenly. Why _should_ fealty remain divided amongst the three of them, especially when Sotha Sil was chronically absent and Vivec spent his days locked in his palace, leaving his people to fend for themselves? All of Morrowind deserved a loving god regardless of geographical location. Almalexia pictured the poor, neglected people of Morrowind, starved for the wisdom and guidance of a god who actually cared about them.

She should be the only god worshiped by her people, she decided. Vivec and Sotha Sil had proven themselves unfit to rule during periods of strife. In her mind she had warped reality, the memory of her own negligence over the years replaced with one in which she was a caring, nurturing goddess who had guided her grateful people through times of hardship.

A plan that would allow her to do away with Sotha Sil and Vivec and, in the process, that damned Nerevarine as well, started to hatch.

She could frame Sotha Sil as an unhinged lunatic, driven to insanity by his loss of power. Most thought him half mad to begin with, so this claim would go unquestioned, as would the reclusive fool's absence after she killed him. When the Nerevarine inevitably came to Mournhold, Almalexia would send her to the Clockwork City with the noble task of defeating the Mad Tinkerer in the name of Morrowind. The Nerevarine would find him already dead, and Almalexia would arrive and slay her as well. She would return to her people with the tragic tale of the Nerevarine, courageous hero until the end, who died protecting Morrowind from Sil's mechanical monstrosities, and that the Nerevarine used her dying breath to proclaim Almalexia the one true god of the Dunmer. The Nerevarine's immense sway would sufficiently quell all doubts people may have harbored, and all would worship Almalexia as their singular deity and her reign would continue.

She’d deal with Vivec later. She couldn’t quite bring herself to plot his demise just yet.

Almalexia knew that the Nerevarine would sooner or later travel to the mainland. Perhaps there were ways to accelerate the time her arrival. She could go to the insipid King Helseth and sow paranoia about the Nerevarine's threat to his power. It was in the best interest of both herself and that usurping idiot who called himself king to do away with the Nerevarine, after all. 

Preparations must begin immediately if she wanted to be ready to carry out her plan at a moment's notice, though it was unclear what could actually be done. She would have the Nerevarine do her bidding, sending her to the sewers to retrieve the Mazed Band that would allow transport to and from the Clockwork City. She could send her to spy on Helseth, and convince her to retrieve the lost pieces of Trueflame, Nerevar's long-lost blade, and to then reforge the sword. 

She would thus finally procure Hopesfire's twin blade. The pair of swords had been a gift from Dumac, the king of the Dwemer, on the day of her and Nerevar's sham wedding. Trueflame had fallen along with Nerevar at the Battle of Red Mountain, but she still had Hopesfire in her possession.

Almalexia dropped to her knees next to her bed. She slid a heavy, worn trunk out from underneath and unlocked it with a key produced from a bedside table. Opening the trunk, she smiled as Hopesfire's strange, crackling blue flame cast an eerie light on her face. It took a lot to impress her these days, but Almalexia never failed to marvel at the sword’s exquisite craftsmanship and otherworldly power.

She lifted the pristine weapon from its bed of velvet. It was impossibly light and its ancient blade gleamed flawlessly, still as devastatingly sharp as the day it was forged. The sword emitted a strange low hum as it thrummed in time with the Ehlnofey, the Earth Bones. Its everlasting and spectacularly strong shock enchantment had been engineered using Tonal Architecture, and she always felt a bit of a thrill knowing that what she held in her hands quite literally twisted the fabric of reality. 

Almalexia closed her eyes as she held the sword, feeling herself reverberate in time with it as well. The lost Ehlnofey seemed to call to her in their harmonic tones, one thousand voices all at once whispering of ancient secrets and unfathomable power. A low ring filled her ears, reminiscent of the sound and feel upon striking a tuning fork. 

She opened her eyes and regarded the weapon that she knew was capable of killing a god, though she wondered if the Tribunal could even be counted among gods at this point. She wondered if it might be possible to trap Seht's soul. Who needed Tonal Architecture when you possessed the soul of a god?

Almalexia was pondering the potential uses for the souls of Sil, the Nerevarine, and possibly Vivec when, without warning, she was yanked backward into what seemed to be one of her visions. The world went black.

She was unable to move anything but her eyes. Almalexia struggled, panicking at the loss of control over her body, but whatever was holding her in place had her in a vice grip. She was no stranger to visions, but this felt much different than what she was used to. She had always retained bodily agency in the past.

The darkness dissolved around her and she found herself in a massive dome. It appeared reminiscent of the ancient Dwemer ruins that still churned active across parts of Tamriel, but Almalexia knew that what she saw was ultimately not their creation-- the Dwemer never had been particularly concerned with matters of architecture, favoring practicality over appearance, nor were they a creative race when it came to those matters. Every ruin that Almalexia had ever visited was nearly identical in design and layout, and generally free of workplace hazards. Almalexia noted tangles of cables and odd machines scattered about; Dumac might have keeled over dead at the sight.

Her eyes followed one of the cables down to the floor where a familiar figure stood, busily pressing a series of complicated buttons on one of the panels that surrounded him. They widened in recognition.

Sotha Sil.

She hadn’t seen nor heard from him in over a decade, not since the heated exchange among the Tribunes in the aftermath of a battle at Red Mountain that had lost them Keening and Sunder to Dagoth Ur.

* * *

_3E 417_

They had let their guard down, an unwise decision on the best of days let alone when you're waging war deep within a volcano, and it had cost them everything. Panicking at the prospect of losing the Tools, Sotha Sil and Almalexia had, for a brief moment, become distracted. The momentary lapse in focus it provided was enough to give Dagoth Ur’s lackeys an advantage, and in seconds they found themselves balanced precariously on a ledge with a mob of Ash Vampires enthusiastically attempting to send them careening into the lake of lava below. In a split second decision, Vivec turned away from his own fighting and used the rest of his already-diminished magicka pool to yank his two fellow Tribunes to him, trading two Tools for two lives. Prizes in hand, Dagoth Ur's ashen troops had retreated immediately. The defeated Tribunal were left to trudge out of the mountain, exchanging no words along with way.

The three now stood facing each other, exhausted and bleeding. Their loss hung, heavy and nearly palpable, in the space between them. Vivec leaned against a boulder, furious with Almalexia and Sil. Sotha Sil had a hand on his chin, worry and confusion etched across his normally stoic face. Almalexia crossed her arms and turned her head away from the two mer, refusing to look at them. Vivec finally broke the icy silence.

“Well.” His voice was flat. “If the goal was to hand Dagoth Ur a colossal tactical advantage, I'd consider us wildly successful.”

He looked between his rescuees. Sotha Sil pondered. Almalexia ignored him. Vivec continued, less sarcastic this time.

“What happened in there? We had the upper hand, then everything fell apart in an instant” He let his head roll back against the rock, chin to the sky.

Sil pursed his lips. “I felt it”, he admitted, “the Heart. It seemed to- to call to me, for lack of a better description. There was a moment -a fraction of a second, if that- during which preserving the power of the Heart for myself seemed of utmost importance, and all else mattered not. The selfish desperation was all-consuming.” It was hard to tell with Sil at times, but he seemed embarrassed by the admission.

Vivec nodded slowly, face still tilted upwards. His tone softened a bit.

"I've felt that at times myself. It's concerning that it happened to you, Sil, as I don't recall your mention of it in the past. I worry about what cumulative effects the Heart may be having on us."

They considered that for a moment. All three had long experienced these worries privately, though none had dared speak aloud of them until right then. Suddenly, the fears they had for so long tucked away for later or waved off as irrational musings felt real. 

Next to Sil, Almalexia reacted with indignation. Hearing her voice, Vivec stood up straight and crossed his arms.

“Do not blame us” she hissed, “ _You_ allowed them to walk away with the tools.” She jabbed a pointed finger at him.

Vivec and Sotha Sil looked at each other for a moment, an odd look passing between them.

“Are you _joking_ , Ayem?” Vivec was flabbergasted, “Do not try to blame me for this! You were about to be pushed into the gods-damned lava! You would have _died._ ”

Almalexia’s eyes burned holes into his. He used to joke that her glare alone could kill, that she never needed to lay a finger on a weapon again if she didn't want to. He wondered now if she was putting that to the test.

“We would have been fine! Don't act like you're some hero who swept in to save us. Stop making excuses for losing the Tools.”

Vivec was nearly struck speechless.

"Ayem, it was not my intent to assign blame, but since that appears to be a concern of yours, I'll be blunt: we were outnumbered, severely weakened, and _you_ were cornered." He replied, feeling anger rising in his chest, " _Your_ actions forced me into an impossible situation: save two Tribunes or save two of the Tools. You are profoundly mistaken if you believe that the decision I made had anything close to valorous intentions. Tools or not, there is simply no way that I could ever take on the army that Dagoth Ur has assembled, let alone Ur himself. Morrowind needs the power and protection afforded by all three of us if there is any hope at all to keep it safe. As difficult as it may be for you to understand it, I based my choice off of what I felt is going to help our people the most." His last words oozed contempt. He knew this would only serve to incense her further but found himself unable to ignore her snide remarks.

Almalexia knew he was right, but in a petty attempt to irritate him further, rolled her eyes and replied with all the sarcasm she could muster.

"How noble of you. What do you propose we do now, Vivec, since you seem to know what's best for us and our people?"

Vivec threw up his hands and "I don't-" 

Sotha Sil cut him off, exasperated at both of them.

"I find this conversation entirely ridiculous, if one could even refer to it as a conversation in the first place. I can think of few things less productive than this juvenile pointing of fingers, particularly in a situation as dire as this."

Vivec and Almalexia both looked down, reminding him of children feeling ashamed after being chastised. Three-thousand-year-old children. Who also happened to be responsible for the well-being and survival of the entire damn province of Morrowind.

It was no wonder they were in this position.

Sil had no choice but to take charge.

"Now, the very first thing we are going to do is remain outside of the Ghostfence at all times and at all cost. After the events of today it is clear that none of us should be near the Heart in our diminished state. Beyond that, I am struggling to think of a strategy that involves more than simply expending more energy to further fortify the Ghostfence in an attempt to keep those monsters in. A brute force measure, I know, and not ideal. I need more time to deliberate what might possibly be done otherwise. In the meantime, I ask that you to as much energy as possible to maintaining the Ghostfence." Hardly much of a stretegy, but he was desperate to return to Clockwork City; it was clear that nothing productive would from Ayem or Vehk today.

Almalexia nodded curtly, also wanting out of the conversation and into a bath. "That's as close to a plan as I think we'll get today. Thank you, _Seht_ , for having something meaningful to contribute to the conversation." Ignoring Vivec entirely, she recalled back to Mournhold.

Vivec put his fingers to his temples. Sotha Sil sighed.

* * * * *

Almalexia had cooled off when Sotha Sil visited Mournhold a few days later. As they sat in her chambers over cups of tea, she had even admitted to acting foolishly both during the battle and in the ensuing conversation with Vivec and Sil. Relieved at the clarity, he took he opportunity to address his concerns about her mental state.

“Ayem”, he said gently, placing a hand on her forearm, “I am worried about you. You have not been yourself as of late."

An understatement if ever one existed; it had been decades since she had seemed like herself.

"I know that Vivec worries as well."

A mistake. Almalexia soured at the mention of Vivec.

"Vivec doesn't care."

"That is simply untrue. He cares a great deal."

"I really don't think so, Sil."

Sotha Sil was profoundly uncomfortable. He approached emotional matters the same way that he did all others --with logic-- which tended to exasperate people. No, Vivec didn't think that he and Ayem could just sit down and talk things out to make it all better. No, Almalexia didn't want to stop writing passive aggressive homilies that were subtle jabs at her fellow Tribunes even if the removal of the one in which Vivec slaughters creatures needlessly would end their months-long argument.

If he was honest with himself, seeing Vehk and Ayem act with such bitterness and anger brought him great sorrow. His memories were steeped in thousands of years of friendship and camaraderie as they ruled as Almsivi. When he pictured one of them, he saw them all, _Ayem ae Sehti ae_ _Vehk_.

"I disagree wholeheartedly, but I would still like to express my own concerns. You have seemed unhappy for a very long time."

"I'm fine, Sil," Almalexia waved him off. "I appreciate your concern, truly, but you needn't worry about me."

That was clearly untrue. He tried once more.

"Would you like for me to stay with you here? Clockwork City carries on fine without me, and it may do me some good to walk amongst our people." He smiled.

"I'll be fine." Almalexia was done talking about it. She changed the subject.

"Have you dreamt up any brilliant ideas regarding how to proceed without Keening and Sunder?"

"No, at least nothing that carries with it a significantly high probability of failure."

"Nothing has come to me either. I fear our hands are tied and that we are faced with very few options. Have you spoken to Vivec?"

"Yes. He too has come up with nothing that doesn't carry with it massive risks."

"So you're saying that the only thing we can do right now is channel every last drop of our available power towards fortifying the Ghostfence."

"Unfortunately, yes."

Almalexia stared down at her mug, looking unhappy.

“And then what?” she asked. “Our strength is waning. It won’t be possible to maintain that indefinitely.”

She wasn’t going to like the answer. 

“We wait for the Nerevarine.”

Almalexia look stunned. “What?” her voice was incredulous, “So you wish to sit and wait for our demise.”

Sil leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. He clasped his hands in front of him, forehead coming to rest against flesh and metal.

“What else is there, Ayem? What else?” He raised his eyes to her and drew a shaky breath, “There is nothing” he said flatly.

Almalexia had no reply because she knew he was right. She sagged back in her chair, defeated.

“You’re right” her voice was barely a whisper, “I know you’re right.”

There was nothing left to say, no details to work out. Sil left shortly after that. Almalexia embraced him goodbye awkwardly. He would come at a moment’s notice at the first sign of trouble, he promised as he prepared to recall to Clockwork City, and reiterated that he was happy to stay with her for as long as she liked and at any time.

After he vanished, Almalexia stood and stared at the spot where Sil had been seconds earlier. She had desperately wanted to accept his offer to stay with her in Mournhold, but pride kept her from agreeing that she needed him. 

She suddenly felt profoundly lonely in her big, empty temple.

* * *

_3E 427_

Almalexia watched her old friend work, wondering what he had connected himself to with those cables and whether he had managed to replace more living body parts with brass over the years. His robotic arm served as a reminder of yet another loss attributed to the daedra attack that had taken his family and wiped out his House, but the rest of his replacement efforts had been voluntary. She and Vivec used to bet on what body part he would replace next, though after both legs were successfully upgraded to the new model they ran out of typically-visible body parts and never seemed to be able speak to certain unmentionables that remained without at least one of them dissolving into laughter, taking the other with them. As there was no appropriate way of determining a winner anyway, they called a permanent draw.

Almalexia’s thoughts were interrupted when she noticed another person appear in the room. Any levity afforded to her by the memories dropped from her mind entirely and her stomach lurched as she watched the sickeningly familiar figure. 

Herself.

She wanted to scream a warning to Sil, to beg the Almalexia in front of her to stop, but found that her paralysis extended to her voice as well, and they couldn’t hear her besides. She knew exactly what this other Ayem had planned; she had been planning it just moments ago, after all.

The Ayem she watched looked _deranged._ Half of her hair had come free from her updo and frizzed wildly around her face and her pauldrons were askew. She had clearly rushed here. Hopesfire hung at her waist. With trepidation Almalexia caught sight of the expression in her other self’s eyes. They were wide and burned with a maniacal, almost rabid, bloodthirst.

At the sound of her arrival Sil turned calmly to face her, his face serene. Roaring his name, Ayem stalked toward him and grabbed the front of his robe, balling the fabric tightly in her fist and yanking him to her. Sil’s face remained tranquil as she leaned in and murmured something in his ear, the words unintelligible to Almalexia from her vantage point, though no imagination was necessary to know what she was saying.

Sil said nothing.

She knew that the Ayem she watched wanted Sotha Sil to apologize, to beg for his life and admit that his godhood was undeserved, not that she planned to spare him regardless. His silence would only serve as fuel for her madness.

Ayem continued to rant and rave, now loud enough that Almalexia could hear it. Much of it was gibberish, but she could make out bits and pieces.

“… only one true god…”

“… always thought yourself our better…”

Sil said nothing.

More incoherent ranting, her voice rising in pitch until she was practically shrieking.

Sil said nothing.

Almalexia watched her other self snap. Ayem screamed and in one swift movement unsheathed Hopesfire and plunged it into Sil’s stomach. Sparks erupted and the air crackled as its shock enchantment met metal. Waves of electricity traveled across cables and laid waste to the machinery in the room, black smoke rising from the ruined husks. The acrid smell of electrical burning and the charring of something else she didn't want to think about filled her nostrils.

Sil was likely dead the moment Hopesfire had touched him, but Ayem continued to stab and slash at him long after it was clear that he was gone. Finally, after what felt like hours, she stopped. She was covered in Sil's blood and swayed slightly as she stood in front of him, breathing heavily. She turned away and, without a second glance, vanished.

Almalexia was horror-struck. The lifeless body of one of her oldest and closest friends hung malformed from blackened cables, dead at her very own hands. She had just witnessed a barbaric, vile murder carried out with cold detachment. She hadn't thought twice about killing him, and there was no remorse in her eyes as she teleported away without a second glance toward Sil. _What had she become?_

The world went black and suddenly she was back in Sil's dome. His body still hung motionless, though by the state decay, months must have passed. His charred flesh was rotting around his metal limbs, hanging grotesquely, and his head had fallen back. Grey flesh stretched thin over his skull and his jaw had dropped open as if locked in a scream. In death he at last wore the expression of horror that her mad self had so desperately desired. Almalexia found herself unable to tear her eyes from her friend’s corpse.

She heard footsteps echoing closer and her gaze finally shifted to the door of the room. A small Dunmer woman strode confidently into the room and abruptly stopped in her tracks, hand over her mouth, and let out a choked scream at the sight of Sil’s mutilated corpse. She appeared to be on the verge of collapsing and leaned forward to place her hands on her knees to steady herself. Almalexia saw the red glow of a sword and recognized it as Trueflame, the fiery twin to Hopesfire. Nerevar's blade. Almalexia was struck with realization.

The Nerevarine stood in front of her.

She studied the stunned mer, searching for any sign of Nerevar in her appearance or mannerisms and finding nothing. She hadn’t particularly expected to but found herself disappointed nonetheless. 

Almalexia watched as her other self materialized behind the Neravarine. For a brief moment she didn’t recognize herself. This Ayem had grown emaciated in the time that passed, her soft silk loincloth barely clinging to her hips. Wild red hair frizzed in all directions, and Almalexia wondered if her other self had bothered to eat or bathe since she killed Sotha Sil. Over her face she wore her fanged war mask, its design reminiscent of a serpent.

The Nerevarine’s eyes widened upon seeing her, registering shock that was soon replaced by sadness and betrayal. Mad Ayem approached, spouting a diatribe about how she'd tricked the Nerevarine, and of her two fellow Tribunes' worthlessness. They stood facing each other after Ayem stopped speaking, the Nerevarine seemingly hesitant to move. Almalexia attacked first, unsheathing Hopesfire and lunging at her. 

_"For now, you face the one true god."_

The Nerevarine reacted in an instant, blocking the attempt with her own Trueflame.

The Nerevarine was exceptionally skilled with the blade. She moved confidently, her movements deliberate and fluid. At times she almost seemed to be dancing. Almalexia knew her style well; she had seen it thousands of times before.

She fought exactly like Nerevar.

Almalexia’s heart twisted as she watched Nerevar shining through. This really was him.

When actively training for battle, Almalexia's skill with a sword rivaled Nerevar's. This was clearly not the case here- the Ayem who fought was thin and weak. The years spent maintaining the Ghostfence left her too exhaused to do anything as physically demanding as training, and she hadn't picked up a sword in years. Her battle with the Nerevarine had been over before it even begun.

Bizarrely, she found herself cheering on the Nerevarine.

It didn't take long to wear Ayem down. Soon, her other self staggered backwards, bleeding freely, and Almalexia thought it was the end. She blinked in surprise when suddenly the Nerevarine stopped attacking and backed up. Both Almalexias looked on in confusion.

The Nerevarine proceeded to beg Ayem to stop. She knew Ayem could change, she implored. She would help her, if Ayem would let her. She promised that it was not too late for redemption. 

Ayem didn't react to this, instead lunging at the Nerevarine with the hopes of catching her off guard.

The Nerevarine seemed to act instinctually and in one swift motion delivered what turned out to be the killing blow. She had an odd, distraught expression on her face as Ayem dropped to the ground, dead, and it seemed as though she hadn't meant to do that, that her movement had been a reaction rather than something deliberate. 

Almalexia watched the Nerevarine drop to her knees next to her body. She pulled Hopesfire out from where it had fallen under one of Ayem’s arms, sliding it away from them, then gently removed the mask from her lifeless face. Slowly, she brushed a stray strand of hair from Ayem’s face and tucked it behind her ear, letting her hand rest for a moment on her cheek. She leaned forward and kissed her forehead softly, murmuring _“I’m sorry”_ into her ear, her voice thick with grief. She gently lifted one of Ayem's hands and slipped the Mazed Band from her finger. Then the Nerevarine rose to her feet, turning to Sil and whispering a short prayer as tears flowed down her cheeks, tracing lines of grey through blood. She gathered Hopesfire and Trueflame, looked around once more, then slipped the ring on and disappeared.

Almalexia’s heart shattered.

Nerevar. That was Nerevar.

So that was the end of it all. Dagoth Ur, dead. The Tribunal, defeated. The prophecy, fulfilled. The Three would again become Azura, Boethiah, and Mephala. Peace and prosperity would return to Morrowind.

Almalexia was wrong in thinking that, so very, devastatingly, wrong.

In a flash she found herself in what she understood was Vivec City, despite never having visited ther after its construction was complete. She stood in the shadow of what appeared to be a colossal boulder. No, not a boulder- this was a moonlet. Baar Dau. Yanked from its intended path through Oblivion and redirected to Vivec City by Sheogorath during one of his fits of anger at the Tribunal, Vivec had managed to stop it from slamming into his city. He had allowed it to remain suspended over the city ever since as a testament to his great power and benevolence.

But she implicitly knew Vivec had disappeared, taking his power with him. Several mortals made a deal with Clavicus Vile that afforded them the ability to keep the moonlet suspended, though they depended on soul gems to power the mechanism that held it above the city. Things fell apart when a lover who possessed a soul too powerful to pass up was sacrificed to maintain the device and, in theensuing conflict between the mortals, the source of power holding Baar Dau in place was destroyed. Now, it would fall.

Baar Dau was glowing red, preparing to make its final descent into the heart of the city.

It would take everything - _everything-_ down with it.

Almalexia watched, helpless and miserable, as people tried to flee. There was screaming, crying, and some jumped from the cantons into the sea below in a desperate attempt to swim away. The lucky ones disappeared, recalling back to wherever they'd placed their mark. Almalexia desperately hoped that they would arrive at a destination far enough away to safely avoid the wreckage of the impact.

Others simply stood with a defeated look in their eyes as they accepted their fate. The devastation would simply be too far-reaching to escape to safety in time. 

When the moonlet finally fell, it hit the city traveling at the same annihilating velocity that it had reached moments before Vivec had managed to stop it.

Vivec City was vaporized upon impact. The cataclysmic explosion killed hundreds of thousands of people instantly, and Almalexia knew there were no survivors. All that remained of the city was a massive, smoldering crater. Almalexia saw the devastation fan out for miles in all directions and wondered in horror how far it would reach. Balmora and Seyda Neen would almost certainly be flattened. Would Gnisis? Ald’ruhn?

 _How many more would die?_

Shockwaves radiated from the point of impact, causing Red Mountain to erupt violently. Lava rushed down its slopes, swallowing entire cities and suffocating farmland, ancestral tombs, and mines before cooling into rock. Any ground it touched was instantly rendered uninhabitable. Ash reigned down relentlessly and blanketed much of the island. It fell too quickly to manage, forcing out residents of the affected areas.

The death toll was unfathomable. Most survivors were rendered homeless and forced to flee the island with nothing but the clothes on their back. Their homes, crops, valuables, everything- all of it was lost. 

She watched Argonians invade a weakened Morrowind, seeking revenge for the centuries of slavery the Dunmer had subjected them to.

Almalexia was in agony, praying to any god she could think of to save her people. She begged entities she didn't believe in to spare them and instead curse her to bear the collective suffering of them all for all eternity. 

People were forced to start their lives over from scratch. She saw some people settle on the mainland. Others were forced to the bleak island of Solstheim, with its persistent ash fall and view of the mountain that had ravaged their homeland as it continued to vomit ash into he sky

The unlucky ones were forced to leave Morrowind entirely, crossing the border into the frozen province of Skyrim and, having few other choices, settling into the bleak, lifeless city of Windhelm.

Everything was grey in Windhelm. The sky. The buildings. The rotten Grey Quarter where her once-proud people were sequestered to a life of squalor.

Their grey skin, painting them as targets for derision and racism. The locals treated them no better than animals.

Their grey skin, grey because of the ancient curse bestowed upon them because of _her_ sins.

Azura had promised that the fate of the Dunmer would remain inextricably linked to the fate of the Tribunal until the end of time. They suffered immeasurably because she was selfish and prideful and had wanted to pretend to be a god. 

She had damned her people for all eternity. She was anything but a god.

* * *

Finally, at last, everything dissolved around her and Almalexia found herself flat on her back on her bed, finally able to move freely. Gagging, she rolled over and hung her head off the bed, retching as she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor.

She scarcely had time to wipe her mouth when she felt something else rising up in her throat. An uncontrollable scream erupted from her lips and she quickly flung her face into a pillow so others wouldn’t hear her and come running. She kept her face pressed into the pillow as her body at last released the agony that had built up inside of her as she was forced to watch herself acting on delusions and then to see the ultimate consequences of her choices in the unimaginable suffering wrought down on her people. Scenes from the vision played repeated over and over in her mind, each time somehow worse than the last.

Almalexia screamed until she was hoarse, then the tears came and she cried until her eyes were dry.

When there was nothing left to release, when she felt hollow, she finally slipped into a restless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo... hi! Welcome to my first fic, something that started out as a modern-girl-falls-into-TES and would feature an OC and Sotha Sil. Vivec and Almalexia were going to be minor characters, with only a few paragraphs dedicated to their reconciliation. That all went out the window when I started to write that scene and things morphed into this, with Ayem and Vehk as the main characters, no OC ever materialized, and Sotha Sil will likely not receive the extensive attention that Ayem and Vehk will. 
> 
> I am profoundly tired of Almalexia getting shat on all the time- as I write this, there's a Tribunal event going on in ESO. But it involves only CWC and Vvardenfell, mainland Morrowind be damned. It's obnoxious and, frankly, insulting that the one female member of the Tribunal is generally only known for killing her husband (uh hi, the other two members also killed her husband), writing homilies that sometimes involve passive-aggressive digs at her fellow tribunes (but ok, those are actually hilarious), and goes mad. Because apparently that's what women do.
> 
> Anyway. I'm attempting to give her more of a backstory, which will hopefully show how it shaped her and why she acts the way she does sometimes. From there I'll shoot for ACTUAL character development. Good thing the bar's low (in-universe character development for Ayem: nonexistent) because I've never actually written anything remotely like this before.
> 
> As a related aside, it feels weirdly vulnerable to be posting something like this. I haven't written fiction in actual decades, so it's new to wonder whether I've adequately taken what's in my head and put it into words that paint an adequate picture of that.
> 
> I promise to not make a regular habit out of turning the a/n section into my personal journal and/or Twitter.
> 
> I'm a very music-oriented person and thus have some song selections that set the tone for the chapter. Suggested here, in the provided order:
> 
> 1\. Coldplay- Viva La Vida  
> 2\. Arcade Fire- Half Light II (No Celebration)  
> 3\. The Antlers- Palace


End file.
